Not quite how it all started, but a sort of beginning
[A brief recount of my path toward sevi lwa so far. The actual beginning, where the Lwa first reached out to me almost a decade ago, is found earlier in this LJ]
Late last January, I cleaned and cleansed my home and made my first offering to Papa Legba. Following Kenaz Filan’s suggestion, I meditated on what I wanted to leave behind and what change I wanted to affect in my life as I cleaned. I saved the contents of my many dustpans and brought them, along with an offering of black coffee coffee, white rum, corn, sweet roasted peanuts, and some homemade simple syrup, to the crossroads.
I emptied the paper sack full of dust on one side of the crossroads, asking Papa Legba to shoulder my troubles for a while, or help me leave them behind. I crossed the road, and sprinkled and poured his offerings, including some of the syrup, onto the ground, and offered my gratitude. I talked to him a while about what I wanted to accomplish in the year ahead of me. I asked him to watch over me on my long journey (that started the next morning) from NY to AZ. I asked him to welcome me and show me the path to him and to sevi lwa. Then, I told him I had a treat for him and asked him to follow me. I left the crossroads and drove home without looking back.
As I drove, I dribbled bits of simple syrup along the way to sweeten the road for Papa Legba. When I arrived home, I welcomed Papa to the space, bade the ancestors of the land welcome him (this land has been in the family for over 400 years!), and poured the rest of the syrup near the front door for him. Then I discovered Papa Legba had already played his first trick on me…
As I drove, some of the syrup didn’t hit the road, but splattered back along my van. I giggled and said to myself, “Well, I’d blessed it for Legba, and he in turn blessed my van with it for the trip." I wiped most of the sticky goo up with a warm rag, and thanked Legba for the giggle.
Little did I know just how profound his blessings would be in the coming months…
On my way from New York to Arizona, I stopped first in Chicago. Resolved to learn as much as I could about Vodou, to overcome my shyness and my tendency to live “in the broom closet," and to meet devotees of the Loa, I visited as many esoteric shops as I could. I focused on shops that advertised Catholic implements alongside pagan ones, hoping they might have what I needed.
Papa guided my steps to one bookstore in particular, where my questions were met with cautious mutual interest. It would turn out I’d stumbled into a store owned, run, and staffed by Vodou practitioners. I was invited to a social gathering that evening and formed a few important friendships I still keep, and gained some very important insight and a nudge toward the next steps on my path. I look forward to returning to visit next winter.
Papa blessed my journey across the country and time and time again. Several times, a coincidence or a mistaken exit would mean I accidentally avoided a massive traffic jam or storm. A planned reunion with my long lost step sister in ABQ, NM fell together perfectly because we made good time on the roads. Every day I had some reason to feel Papa working for me. Every evening, I felt I had reason to give thanks.
Once I’d arrived safely in Arizona, I started looking for something to offer Legba in gratitude for his amazing gifts. I didn’t need to look long. As I unpacked my van, I found a set of massive old iron keys I’d been carrying around as a potential prop for a future steampunk character. As soon as I found them, I knew to whom they properly belonged.
A few weeks later, I was speeding (which I never normally do in town) and I got pulled over. While the officer was running my license, a gigantic fatal pileup crash involving a tanker truck happened at the next intersection down the road. I would most certainly have been involved if the policeman hadn’t stopped me. Moreover, he cited me for a fee significantly less than my actual infraction, saving me almost $200.
I traded a cheap traffic ticket for death in a fiery car crash. Now if that isn’t Papa Legba’s style…
A few days later, I offered Legba a corncob pipe and some sweet pipe tobacco and dedicated a Saint Peter card to him. I lit the white candle I use for him, welcomed him with a liberal sprinkle of white rum, then touched some of the rum to the card and blew pipe smoke over it. I spoke to him for quite some time offering gratitude, hopes, dreams, aspirations, and again asked him to guide my path closer to him.
I keep the saint card in my van, tucked in the visor over my head so I can see it. He and St. Christofer watch over me wherever I go. As someone who travels cross country quite a bit (I’ve been to Texas and back to New York since then) it feels good to know he’s up there.
I lament to say that it’s now been three months since I’ve done any serious workings with Legba. I offer him coins when I drive through crossroads somewhat often, a small token of reverence and gratitude for his continued protection.
Truthfully, I think I’ve just become discouraged. It’s nigh to impossible to find a botanica where I travel and stay. None of my circle of friends or acquaintances are practitioners in any but the most ubiquitous neo-pagan traditions, though some are quite talented in their workings. I have read and read and read and read and I’m terribly aware that books are not all there is. I’ve found blogs and gems here and there on the internet and Facebook, but nothing yet that resembles friendship, fellow seeker, or someone with whom I can learn and grow.
Forgive me, Papa. I’m trying. I will find you. I promise.
Late last January, I cleaned and cleansed my home and made my first offering to Papa Legba. Following Kenaz Filan’s suggestion, I meditated on what I wanted to leave behind and what change I wanted to affect in my life as I cleaned. I saved the contents of my many dustpans and brought them, along with an offering of black coffee coffee, white rum, corn, sweet roasted peanuts, and some homemade simple syrup, to the crossroads.
I emptied the paper sack full of dust on one side of the crossroads, asking Papa Legba to shoulder my troubles for a while, or help me leave them behind. I crossed the road, and sprinkled and poured his offerings, including some of the syrup, onto the ground, and offered my gratitude. I talked to him a while about what I wanted to accomplish in the year ahead of me. I asked him to watch over me on my long journey (that started the next morning) from NY to AZ. I asked him to welcome me and show me the path to him and to sevi lwa. Then, I told him I had a treat for him and asked him to follow me. I left the crossroads and drove home without looking back.
As I drove, I dribbled bits of simple syrup along the way to sweeten the road for Papa Legba. When I arrived home, I welcomed Papa to the space, bade the ancestors of the land welcome him (this land has been in the family for over 400 years!), and poured the rest of the syrup near the front door for him. Then I discovered Papa Legba had already played his first trick on me…
As I drove, some of the syrup didn’t hit the road, but splattered back along my van. I giggled and said to myself, “Well, I’d blessed it for Legba, and he in turn blessed my van with it for the trip." I wiped most of the sticky goo up with a warm rag, and thanked Legba for the giggle.
Little did I know just how profound his blessings would be in the coming months…
On my way from New York to Arizona, I stopped first in Chicago. Resolved to learn as much as I could about Vodou, to overcome my shyness and my tendency to live “in the broom closet," and to meet devotees of the Loa, I visited as many esoteric shops as I could. I focused on shops that advertised Catholic implements alongside pagan ones, hoping they might have what I needed.
Papa guided my steps to one bookstore in particular, where my questions were met with cautious mutual interest. It would turn out I’d stumbled into a store owned, run, and staffed by Vodou practitioners. I was invited to a social gathering that evening and formed a few important friendships I still keep, and gained some very important insight and a nudge toward the next steps on my path. I look forward to returning to visit next winter.
Papa blessed my journey across the country and time and time again. Several times, a coincidence or a mistaken exit would mean I accidentally avoided a massive traffic jam or storm. A planned reunion with my long lost step sister in ABQ, NM fell together perfectly because we made good time on the roads. Every day I had some reason to feel Papa working for me. Every evening, I felt I had reason to give thanks.
Once I’d arrived safely in Arizona, I started looking for something to offer Legba in gratitude for his amazing gifts. I didn’t need to look long. As I unpacked my van, I found a set of massive old iron keys I’d been carrying around as a potential prop for a future steampunk character. As soon as I found them, I knew to whom they properly belonged.
A few weeks later, I was speeding (which I never normally do in town) and I got pulled over. While the officer was running my license, a gigantic fatal pileup crash involving a tanker truck happened at the next intersection down the road. I would most certainly have been involved if the policeman hadn’t stopped me. Moreover, he cited me for a fee significantly less than my actual infraction, saving me almost $200.
I traded a cheap traffic ticket for death in a fiery car crash. Now if that isn’t Papa Legba’s style…
A few days later, I offered Legba a corncob pipe and some sweet pipe tobacco and dedicated a Saint Peter card to him. I lit the white candle I use for him, welcomed him with a liberal sprinkle of white rum, then touched some of the rum to the card and blew pipe smoke over it. I spoke to him for quite some time offering gratitude, hopes, dreams, aspirations, and again asked him to guide my path closer to him.
I keep the saint card in my van, tucked in the visor over my head so I can see it. He and St. Christofer watch over me wherever I go. As someone who travels cross country quite a bit (I’ve been to Texas and back to New York since then) it feels good to know he’s up there.
I lament to say that it’s now been three months since I’ve done any serious workings with Legba. I offer him coins when I drive through crossroads somewhat often, a small token of reverence and gratitude for his continued protection.
Truthfully, I think I’ve just become discouraged. It’s nigh to impossible to find a botanica where I travel and stay. None of my circle of friends or acquaintances are practitioners in any but the most ubiquitous neo-pagan traditions, though some are quite talented in their workings. I have read and read and read and read and I’m terribly aware that books are not all there is. I’ve found blogs and gems here and there on the internet and Facebook, but nothing yet that resembles friendship, fellow seeker, or someone with whom I can learn and grow.
Forgive me, Papa. I’m trying. I will find you. I promise.